


Five Ways Sam Winchester Met Brigitte Fitzgerald

by somnolentblue



Category: Ginger Snaps Trilogy, Ginger Snaps/Supernatural, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnolentblue/pseuds/somnolentblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways Sam Winchester might have met Brigitte Fitzgerald. Gen (parts 1-4) and het (part 5).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Ways Sam Winchester Met Brigitte Fitzgerald

**Author's Note:**

> In the third iteration, I pushed the date of Ginger Snaps back to 1990.  
> Takes 2 and 3 technically merit archive warnings - see note at the end for more detail.   
> Originally written for mini_nanowrimo. Many thanks to too_rational for reading this over and wrangling my commas and penchant for repetition; any remaining oddities and errors are my own. Feedback is love, and concrit is welcomed.

**The Time Dean Was Bitten By A Werewolf.**   
**Superior National Forest, Minnesota, 2012**

The first time Sam saw Brigitte Fitzgerald was at the Roadhouse. He and Dean had stopped by while meandering through Nebraska between cases. He'd seen her, but she didn't register beyond the fact that Dean didn't hit on her, the only woman drinking in the Roadhouse. (Granted, Dean was learning that hitting on fellow hunters required circumspection and a large portion of politeness; for every woman who enthusiastically welcomed his advances there were two who shut him down cold and one who threatened to break whichever body part was closest. She looked like the breaking type, all angles and tense muscles and tight expression.)

The first time Sam met Brigitte Fitzgerald he learned exactly how alike they were.

*****

His fingers didn't shake while dialing, which struck Sam as absurd. He supposed it was a good thing — spilling his guts to some poor guy picking up a wrong number would be bad. On the other hand, Bobby had managed to grab a whole block of phone numbers, so even if he mis-dialed chances were that he'd still catch the man.

After two rings, Bobby picked up. "Singer."

"Bobby, it's Sam. Dean's been bitten by whatever-this-is. I need a cure. I've doused the bite with holy water, but he's still not good."

There was a long silence. "Sam," Bobby said cautiously, "aren't y'all working the werewolf case down in Texas?"

"Bobby, I am going to fix this. Now, what do you have for me?" Distantly, Sam knew that he was being incredibly rude while begging for help. He didn't really care.

Sam was about to hang up when Bobby offered him some potentially useful information. "Well, there's a girl, she might be able to help. She specializes in werewolves. Mostly stays around the border, prefers the Canadian side, but you might catch her if you get lucky - 'pparently there's been a rash of eviscerations up near Duluth, looks like werewolves 'cept for the whole moon thing. Got a great beast of a dog, watch out for that. Name's Brigitte."

Sam looked over at his brother, who was shivering on the bed and leaving blood stains on the sheets. "Fine. Thanks, Bobby." He hung up, cutting off the "Sam—" from Bobby's end. He'd already put their duffels in the Impala; he was just waiting on a direction to drive her in. He had that now, so it was time to shift Dean to the car and go.

*****

Sam froze when he heard the growl. When he saw the animal slinking out of the shadows towards him, he stopped breathing. He felt fairly confident in his conclusion that he was being threatened by a wolf and not, as Bobby had warned, a great beast of a dog. Its massive size and odd shape made him revise his assessment from wolf to werewolf. _Shit fuck shit fuck fuck fuck._

A voice cracked out, "Ginger." The werewolf stopped its advance, but it kept growling at him. Brigitte emerged from the small cabin, holding a rifle on him. "Yes?"

Sam swallowed and began to try and persuade the woman to help him. "My name is Sam Winchester. I heard you know things about werewolves." She tensed, and Ginger crept a little bit closer before abruptly stopping as if pulled back on a leash. "I need your help."

"Now, why would you need my help? The only thing to do with a werewolf is kill it, right?" Bitterness infused her voice, and Sam wondered at the disconnect between what she was saying and Ginger, who continued to growl and bare its teeth. He gave up on the oblique approach and went for the blunt.

"Look, my brother Dean was bitten by a werewolf when we were hunting down in the panhandle. I don't want him to turn, and I don't want to kill him. Can you help me?"

Ginger paced back to Brigitte's side; together, they evaluated him. Finally, Brigitte gave a sharp nod and told him that they should enter. Sam retreated to the Impala, opened the back door, and shook Dean's shoulder. "Dean, c'mon man, time to get up."

Dean looked at him blearily. "Whuh?"

"Dean, we're here." At Dean's blank look, he added, "Remember, Bobby told me about someone who could help. But you need to come with me now."

Dean leveraged himself out of the car, refusing to lean on Sam even though he obviously needed to. He got to the porch steps and abruptly stopped, reaching towards the small of his back.

"No! Dean, it's okay, they're okay, stop!"

"Dude, _werewolf_. Not okay."

"Dean, they can _help_. It - she - hasn't attacked me, and _look_ at her, Dean. Do you think she's about to leap for your throat?"

Dean evidently decided that the situation might have been okay (the gun Brigitte brought back up as soon as his hand had disappeared from sight might have influenced that decision). He gave Sam a disappointed look but stood down - for certain values of stood down that combined being tense as fuck with being barely able to stand.

"Dean, she can help," Sam reiterated.

"Dunno if I want that help, Sammy. I'd rather be dead than a tame puppy dog."

"Dean, would you stop insulting our hosts."

"She's not _tame_, and she's not a _puppy dog_. She's my sister, and I'd thank you to remember it. She also says that you smell afraid, so you should shut the fuck up and drop the bravado."

Sam was taken aback by the Brigitte's interruption. "_She_ says?" he asked.

Brigitte sighed and lowered the gun completely. She looked down sharply at Ginger, shook her head, and then responded. "Yes, _she_, Ginger Fitzgerald, sister of Brigitte Fitzgerald, says. Now, are you fucking coming in or not? I could care less if you rot out here, but you might attract wildlife, and that would be unfortunate. Ginge, I don't care how strong you are, you shouldn't tangle with a bear."

Sam helped Dean up the steps into the house as they followed the strange pair.

*****

"So," Brigitte said after she and Sam were seated at the tiny table and Dean had perched on the couch. "Werewolf bite. What do you think I can do?"

"I don't know," Sam responded. "Something, anything to keep me from having to kill him. Bobby said you might be able to help, so here we are."

"Bobby Singer?" she inquired. At Sam's nod, she pursed her lips. "Well, we owe him, so I'll help. However, forget you saw us. Hunters don't take well to us, and I don't like to be bothered." Ginger chuffed, and Brigitte gave her a look Sam recognized from his own face when Dean was being annoying.

Brigitte pushed back from the table and went into the other room. Ginger and Dean kept staring at each other, and Sam drummed his fingers on the table top. When she came back, she was carrying a small plant. "Here," she said, "this is monkshood. It's what you want. I recommend using it sooner rather than later, but that's up to you."

Sam looked at it dubiously. "What, exactly, am I supposed to do with it?"

"Shoot it up." Sam choked. "Seriously, cook it down and inject it into his vein. It may kill him - I haven't had a lot of opportunity to fine tune the procedure, and I don't know if the death resulted from an OD or because it was a cyclical werewolf I tried it on. I warned her, but she died anyway. So, I'm warning you. He could die, but he'd die human. Your call." Brigitte absently rubbed a scar on her palm and looked at him steadily.

"And Ginger? Why isn't she human, if you have this stuff?"

Brigitte's expression shut down completely. Sam hadn't realized that she had relaxed, just a touch, until suddenly she wasn't. Ginger paced over and shoved her snout underneath Brigitte's hand, and her expression softened just a bit as she stroked Ginger's head.

"I've heard, Sam Winchester, that you went to Stanford once upon a time." She smirked at Sam's startled twitch and continued. "Therefore, _you_ presumably have a modicum of intelligence and some rudimentary powers of observation and deduction. Therefore, _I_ presume that you've realized that Ginger is not trying to rip your throat out nor is she forcing Dean into submission." Dean made an objecting noise but restrained himself from actually speaking. "Ginger's mind remains completely human, barring the occasional urge to chase deer." Ginger playfully nipped at Brigitte's hand. Sam tensed, but Brigitte just thumped her lightly before continuing. "I didn't discover monkshood until after her physical transformation had completed and she'd become a lycanthrope. It could restore her mind, but it couldn't reverse the physical alterations. Now, I, on the other hand, took it early enough to prevent the transformation. So, Sam Winchester, those are your odds. One person who escaped the curse entirely, one person who retains her mind but not her body, and one person who died."

Sam took a minute to digest what he'd heard. "Did she bite you?" he inquired softly.

"I shared her blood so that we could be together. You understand why I don't want hunters to find us. I was willing to be a lycanthrope for her. I'm certainly willing to kill for her, but I'd prefer not to have to kill people."

Sam understood her perfectly. He wouldn't tell anyone that they were there, and he'd make sure that Dean wouldn't either. He nodded, then applied himself to preparing the monkshood.

 

 

**The Time Sam Killed Brigitte**   
**Canada, April 2008**

Sam eased closer to the trap door. The teen's explanations of how she'd trapped a werewolf in her basement were muddled, but Sam supposed that trauma did that to some people. However, he wished she'd shut up and stop doing that freaky third-person narration. He still missed Dean, and someone, even a ridiculous blonde adolescent, annoying him on a hunt just made that ache sharper. (Oh, who the hell was he kidding? _Everything_ made that ache sharper.) At his nod, she used the pulley to open the door; when the werewolf sprang out, he shot it in the chest and then in the head.

After he cleaned up the mess on the floor, he walked out, leaving the blonde behind him rhapsodizing about heros and maidens fair and mighty beasts.

Maybe it was time to go back to Broward County and _fix_ this.

 

 

**The Time Sam Didn't Meet Brigitte**   
**Theodore Roosevelt National Forest, North Dakota, 1991**

Sam slouched in his seat, idly kicking at the back of Dean's. Dean reached back and swatted at his leg, but he couldn't even be bothered to turn around and yell. They'd been stuck in the car together for days, and Dad had threatened high holy hell (although he wouldn't say 'hell' in front of Sam, at least not on purpose) if they budged from it right now. He kept telling them he was going to take them out to Elkhorn, Teddy Roosevelt's ranch - Sam thought it sounded kind of cool, but Dean grumbled and made dire threats about teddy bears, so he'd shut up about it and stopped asking so Dean wouldn't Do Things to him. At least they'd be stopped long enough that he could take his seat belt off.

Sam picked up _Redwall_ and read for a while. He heard Dad's shotgun and, a little bit later, the trunk opening. Figuring it was okay, he rolled down his window and turned to talk to his dad. The first thing he noticed was some woman sobbing in the background - something about _help her_ and _save her_ and _took my daughter away_. Looking across at her, he saw a dark, fuzzy lump at her feet.

"Sam," Dad's voice cracked out. "Get in the car."

"But Dad, I'm not out of the car!"

Dad swam into view and took over the window. "Sam," he said, scary quiet. "When I say stay in the car, I don't mean that most of you stays in the car and your nose comes out. I mean _stay in the car_. Now, roll your window back up, go back to your book, and don't look out. _Stay in the car_." Dad stared at him until he nodded and rolled the window back up. He kept looking at Sam until Sam picked his book back up and started reading again. His tone had even cowed Dean, who wasn't getting chewed out, enough that he didn't make fun of Sam.

After a little while, Dad came back. He opened Dean's door and ordered Dean into the back seat with Sam. A woman got in, Dad's age, wearing some sort of mucky sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail. Dad climbed into his seat. "Boys, this is Pamela. Pamela, these are m'boys, Sam and Dean."

"Hi," they mumbled. She nodded at them, once, and then stared at the window.

"We're taking her to Bobby's," Dad announced. "You be nice to her."

"Yessir."

"Yes, Dad."

"Good boys."

Not a single word was said the entire way to Bobby's place.

When Sam met Pamela Fitzgerald twenty years later during a haunting, he shivered at the gleam of hate he saw in her eyes.

 

 

**The Time Dean Had Nightmares**   
**Winkler, Manitoba, 2009**

Sam knocked on the door. He knew Ellen wouldn't have sent him to the wrong place, but he didn't feel like there ought to be an occult herbalist in the middle of this cozy subdivision. He knew, intimately, that suburbia was just as subject to things that go bump in the night as anywhere else, but he still felt like he was about to step into a horror movie and have to yell at someone to go out the bloody door instead of up the stairs.

The door opened, and a thin brunette stared up at Sam. She raised her eyebrow and waited.

"Ummm, Ginger sent me," he muttered. What a ridiculous code.

She opened the door a little wider and stepped back. Sam entered, noticing the shotgun she was holding down by her leg, partially obscured by her voluminous skirt. He followed her into the kitchen and then down into the basement.

"So, Samuel Winchester. What do you need?" she inquired.

"Ellen Harvelle told me that you were good with herbs." He paused, and she simply nodded. "Can you give me something to help someone sleep? We've tried… well, I think we've tried everything and anything, and Ellen finally said you might be able to help."

"We?" she asked.

"My brother, Dean. He had… some bad experiences, and now he has nightmares."

"Hell will do that to a person."

Sam started to rise, unsure how she knew but unhappy about it.

"Oh, sit down, boy. Ellen told me everything. I don't take clients without references - too many people don't follow instructions and then blame me. Idiots. Now, I can't bottle fame, brew glory, or even stopper death, but I can help your brother." She placed a small tea tin in front of him. "I know that whatever I tell you won't stop you from opening that tin. However, keep your nose out of it. It's meant to be drunk, not sniffed, and unfortunate things will happen if you consume it. _Only_ Dean, and _only_ as a tea. Standard procedure - hot water, steep for five minutes, pull out the tea bag, drink. Do you think you can handle it?"

Sam glared. He was glad that she seemed to think that she could help, but he didn't appreciate the condescension.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch. You have your brother again; I'll never have my sister. Now, it's time for you to leave so that I can open my shop."

Sam dug into his pocket, intending to pull out some cash.

"No charge. Goodbye."

 

 

**The Time Brigitte Remembered Everything**   
**Conroe, Texas, 2008; Chatsworth, NJ, 2009**

When they first met in March, he thought she was Jenna Lycos, CDC officer. She thought he was Stephen Daidalus, FBI agent. (When she made an oblique comment about artists as young men, he stammered out an explanation concerning parents who were literary professors and delighted in scarring their only child for life. At that point, he decided that he had to accept that Dean's reality distortion field didn't work in the absence of Dean and that he would need to choose less allusive aliases. Somehow, it didn't seem quite fair that Dean could choose culturally relevant rockstars and pass, whereas Sam's borrowings from an author that even his fellow classmates at Stanford read via internet summaries almost got him caught.)

When they met later that night, roaming about the piney woods looking for the cockatrice, she re-introduced herself as Brigitte Fitzgerald and he fessed up about being Sam Winchester. (He'd learned that sometimes his name didn't win him any favors.) After the adrenaline and the mirror shards and the motherfucking roosters, they ended up in her room and didn't emerge until it was time for coffee. Some of Sam's bruises might have been fresher than the hunt, but he didn't have anyone to tease him about it any more so he didn't bother to obscure them.

During the next few months, they ran into each other a few times. Eventually, a system of betting evolved about who would be at a job first; odd corollaries emerged regarding the nature of their aliases, who could get more witnesses to talk, which agencies would be their cover story, and who could tell the most creative story without being busted by the locals. It wasn't like being with Dean, exactly, but it wasn't quite like being alone either.

He never asked about all the times she disappeared with her little purple vials, about the track marks, about her senses. She never asked about the double rooms, about why they always, _always_ went back to hers, about his singing along to Zeppelin even though he said he hated them.

When they first met in July — after Dean, after Ruby, after Lucifer — he introduced himself as Stephen Daidalus on a whim. She gazed at him while Dean quietly freaked out because his ID said Henry Bonham. Finally, she quirked her lips and introduced herself as Jenna Lycos (her ID said Rhea Lupa). Dean watched, confused, as they dropped their cover stories and quickly compared information about what was actually happening. Later that night, he interrogated Sam about her and gave Sam his _dude, WTF?_ look when she showed up to take him to a local bar. However, Sam was grateful that Dean left them alone and declined her invitation to join them.

Sam never asked about all the times she disappeared with her little purple vials, about the track marks, about her senses. Brigitte never asked about his ticks, about his withdrawal symptoms, about his nightmares. Dean never asked how they met, how they knew who was winning the bet at any particular moment, how they sometimes acquired bruises during the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Parts 2 and 3 technically contain major character death for a Ginger Snaps' character, although they're not major character deaths within the context of the story. I don't feel that they're inconsistent with the tone of GS canon.


End file.
